


Armistice

by holograms



Series: whiskey tango foxtrot [4]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Accidental Domesticity, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Getting Worse before Getting Better, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Smut, wow! that's character development
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms
Summary: Frank follows Hawkeye to Crabapple Cove. He tries to fit in.
Relationships: Frank Burns/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Series: whiskey tango foxtrot [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764913
Comments: 28
Kudos: 34





	1. Daniel

**Author's Note:**

> warning for discussion of death (not of main characters, and that has happened previously)

Crabapple Cove looks exactly as Frank imagined it. Small-town, USA. Hawkeye is driving, pointing out different places — “they have the best lobster bisque” and “that’s where I went to high school” and “my dad’s office is down that way.” His excitement is infectious, but it makes Frank nervous, too.

What if this is a mistake? He can’t fit into a place like this, and where will he go when Hawkeye grows tired of him—?

“Here’s home.”

Hawkeye had described it as modest. It’s quite a bit more than that. At the end of a gravel driveway, is a white two-story New England house, with a dark blue roof and a wrap-around porch, set in a thicket of trees. Frank thinks it’s exactly the kind of place where Hawkeye would have grown up, whimsical and charming.

Hawkeye blows the horn, turns off the car and gets out so fast that he nearly trips over himself. Frank thinks of staying in the car but Hawkeye bangs on the hood and tells him, “come _on_.”

A man steps onto the porch and when he sees Hawkeye he breaks into a grin that is unmistakably _Pierce_ -like. Frank hangs back, watches as Hawkeye runs towards his father, takes the steps two at a time, and then gets swept into a big hug.

Frank thinks he hears Hawkeye cry. He looks down at the ground.

What feels like hours later, father and son separate. The elder Pierce rests his hands on Hawkeye’s shoulders, says something Frank can’t hear, and then Hawkeye replies with something that makes his father laugh, and then they’re both looking at him and Hawkeye beckons him to approach.

Act normal, Frank tells himself. Don’t say something stupid. Don’t _be_ stupid. Maybe just don’t talk at all—

“You must be Frank,” says Hawkeye’s father. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Frank feels his hackles rise and he almost says, _that’s what you think_ , but he bites down on his tongue and reminds himself that he’s trying to be liked.

“Hello,” Frank says, offering his hand in greeting, but he’s pulled into a hug instead.

They have a late lunch (or an early dinner). They haven’t ate since they left Connecticut that morning. Daniel — what he insistes Frank calls him, _none of that Dr. Pierce nonsense_ — fixes them up some shepherd’s pie and asks about their road trip. Hawkeye tells a story where Frank saw a moose for the first time in his life and screamed in terror, and while it’s funnier now that Frank isn’t terrified of a nine foot monstrosity, he’s more interested in the knowledge that Daniel and Hawkeye have the same laugh. They look the same, too — only Daniel’s hair is entirely white compared to Hawkeye’s mostly gray. It gives Frank a good idea what Hawkeye will look like in thirty years.

They leave out where Frank threatened to leave Hawkeye on the side of the road in Ohio. They also don’t talk about they were a couple days later than expected because they got good use out of their hotel room in upstate New York.

“You can be honest,” says Daniel. “I know Ben can be difficult.”

“He has his moments.” Frank turns towards Hawkeye. “Isn’t that right, _Ben?”_

Hawkeye glares at him like he’d like to sock him in the nose, but is restraining himself in the presence of his father. It’s strange, hearing someone call Hawkeye by his given name, and even stranger to say it. He worries he’s done something wrong — that maybe his father is the only person allowed to call him that — but there’s no animosity in Daniel’s expression.

Within a few hours, Frank decides that he likes Daniel Pierce. He has the humor of Hawkeye without the meanness, he’s easy to talk to, and it feels like he actually wants to listen to Frank when he speaks. Frank can tell Hawkeye is annoyed with how well he‘s getting along with Daniel. Frank thinks it’s fair, since Hawkeye became buddies with his mom.

When Hawkeye leaves the room and comes back with a drink, Daniel suggests that it’s time for them to get settled in.

They’re to stay in the side house, said with a casual air that everyone has a guest house on their property. It sits behind the main house, partially obscured by maple trees. The house has the same cottage design and a hammock in the front. It’s small, but cozy.

Daniel helps bring in what’s packed in the car. It only takes a couple trips. Frank doesn’t have much. All his life can be condensed into a few boxes stacked in the living room, marked: books, clothes, miscellaneous.

“I’ll put it away later.” Frank is reluctant to unpack, when he isn’t sure if this is going to work out. What if tomorrow Hawkeye has one of his moods and decides that he hates him again?

Daniel nods. “I think you’ll be comfortable here.”

“Why do you say that?” What does Daniel know? Why does he think he’ll like it here? Why—

Hawkeye clears his throat. “Thanks, dad. I’ll give Frank the tour later.”

“Of course.”

Frank doesn’t know why Daniel has to look at _him_ when he says that.

“Well,” Daniel says. “I’ll be going. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Yes, dad,” says Hawkeye. “You can tuck me in tonight if you wish.”

“I just might.” He kisses Hawkeye’s forehead. “I’m glad you’re home, son.”

“Me, too,” and a touch of sadness has crept into Hawkeye’s voice. He tries to look away but Daniel won’t let him, he traps him in the moment and makes him accept his concern — because if Hawkeye escapes it, then he doesn’t have to think about why he’s sad.

“I’m fine,” Hawkeye says, and Daniel must decide he’ll get nowhere arguing with him, so he just pats his shoulder, gives Frank a nod, and then leaves them alone.

Hawkeye acts like it’s no big deal. He flops into the recliner and puts his feet on the coffee table, runs his hand through his hair.

“My dad likes you,” he says. “But he‘s only met you once, so we’ll see if he comes to his senses.”

Frank bets Hawkeye has been waiting for hours to get a dig in on him — he was mostly well-mannered. But there is some truth to it. Daniel Pierce was incredibly kind to Frank, which people rarely are when they first meet him. Usually, people dislike him from the start. There must be a reason why Daniel hasn’t taken an instant loathing to him—

“Does your father know that I’m... You know...” Frank’s voice lowers to a whisper, as though Daniel might be listening to them through the door. “Did you tell him about me?”

“That you’re a republican? Blegh, no.”

Frank feels himself making the expression that Hawkeye has said makes him look _extra ferrety_.

“He has to know about…us,” Frank says.

“What about _us?”_

“Hawkeye,” he says, stressed, “what if he knows we’re lovers—”

“ _Gross_.”

“Be mature, Hawkeye.” He had objected to calling each other _partner_ because it’s too serious, and Frank agrees that _boyfriend_ is silly. “Your father knows you’re attracted to men, doesn’t he?”

Hawkeye shrugs, then gets up and goes to the kitchen.

“My friend Tommy and I used to cut class sometimes, and we’d go to my place because my dad would be working during the day,” says Hawkeye. “Well, one day my dad came home early and caught us fooling around. But he only lectured us about skipping school. We never talked about me kissing boys.” He opens a cabinet, takes out a bottle of liquor, pours himself a double serving, smells it before taking a drink. “I don’t think he worried much about it because he caught me with girls, too.”

“Whore,” Frank calls him, but Hawkeye grins like a maniac and holds up his glass as in a toast.

“At least I didn’t go to college a virgin,” Hawkeye says. “That’s embarrassing.”

Frank’s face warms. “There’s no shame in waiting until marriage.”

“Oh, so that’s why you started sleeping around after you were married.”

“Pierce—”

“ _Burns_ ,” Hawkeye replies in the same tone, mocking him. Frank goes to turn away, but Hawkeye backs Frank against the counter, boxing him in. “I don’t mean to tease you.”

“But you do, anyway.”

“Because you’re cute when you’re frustrated.” Hawkeye trails a finger up Frank’s chest, taps his nose. “Besides, you kind of like it.”

And maybe he does, but he’d never tell Hawkeye that.

Hawkeye gets in that perfect spot of coherent but affectionate drunk, and then helps Frank unpack. Frank left most of his dishes with his mother, but there were a few things he couldn’t part with, like his cast iron skillet — which he’s glad he kept, because his assumption that Hawkeye would not have anything besides the basics is correct. However, Hawkeye has an extensive record collection, ranging from operatic musicals to Hank Williams to Doris Day. Frank stacks his along with them, mixing their possessions.

On the shelf with the record player sits a picture of a family — there’s a much younger Daniel Pierce who Frank thought was Hawkeye for a moment, but then he notices the gangly boy in the photo and _that’s_ Hawkeye. Frank gets caught on it for a moment, seeing Hawkeye as a young child, and how he looks the same but not at all. But then he notices the woman in the photo who has her hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder, and the little girl that next to him.

“That’s the last picture of all four of us together,” Hawkeye says. “It was couple weeks before Beatrice — my sister — died.”

Frank looks at the picture of all the Pierces happy and alive; they didn’t know that in a few years half of them would be gone from this world. Frank knows Hawkeye’s mother got sick and passed when he was ten, but that’s all. Hawkeye hardly talks about his mother, but he’s mentioned his sister even less.

“How old were you when she…?”

“Six.”

Frank thinks of the worst thing that happened to him when he was six years old. It was bad, but not _my sister tragically died_ bad.

He doesn’t go into the bedroom until he’s invited, like he thinks that Hawkeye actually would kick him to the guest room. Hawkeye isn’t serious about it, of course, slinking against the doorframe and popping out his ass seductively and giving that half-lidded gaze that really gets Frank going. But Frank pushes past him; none of that now.

The room is how Frank imagined it: sloppy, but lived-in. It’s decorated with warm muted colors, and has a big window with a perfect view of the stream out back. There are plenty of Hawkeye’s creature comforts scattered about. A basket full of yarn skeins, books on the bedside table. Frank half expected a still to be set up, but there isn’t.

On the dresser are several photos. Hawkeye and his father from before Korea, because Hawkeye doesn’t look as tired and sad as he does now. A beautiful sunset. One where Hawkeye looks actually _happy,_ with people who Frank mostly knows — Margaret, Hunnicutt, colonel Potter, Klinger (dressed in _mens_ clothes), father Mulcahy, and a tall balding man.

“That’s Charles,” Hawkeye says. “Your replacement.”

“He doesn’t seem that special,” Frank says.

“Don’t be jealous,” Hawkeye tells him, but he doesn’t understand. Frank _is_ envious, but not for the reason Hawkeye thinks. He’s upset because they never included him like that. They weren’t his friend, and after he left, everyone got along better, people _are_ better off without him—

“Hey.” Hawkeye nudges him. “Stop spiraling.”

Frank takes a deep breath. Yes, he was spiraling in despair. Hawkeye is good at seeing it before it gets too bad. That’s what they do — help each other. Frank helps Hawkeye when he gets stuck in those dark places, and Hawkeye stops him from being stupid.

Hawkeye tells him to put out whatever he wants, so Frank puts his two framed pictures with the others — the one of his mother he’s taken everywhere with him, and another of his daughters. He puts out his other things. His own clock, his own pillow. His Bible and wood carving with his favorite verse ( _I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me)_. He doesn’t have many personal knickknacks, but it’s enough to make it feel a little like his place, too.

Hawkeye empties a few dresser drawers and makes space in the closet so Frank can move his clothes in them. Hawkeye lounges on the bed as Frank puts them away. He makes comments, like: _Ugly. Sexy. Are you sure those pants fit you?_

“Why should I listen to you? It’s not like you’re a sage of fashion.” Frank pulls one of Hawkeye’s shirts from the closet — short sleeved and bright yellow with lime green pin stripes. “What is this eyesore?”

“If you have such a problem with my clothes, maybe I should take them off,” Hawkeye says and it’s one of the cheesiest come-ons Frank has ever heard but Hawkeye is stripping off his clothes in the manner of a showgirl and—

Hawkeye lays on his front, his head between Frank’s legs as he sucks him off. Both are too impatient to do anything further and honestly, too lazy. Frank reaches down and touches Hawkeye, his neck, hair, the shell of his ear. Hawkeye moans — he’s always so vocal when he’s using his mouth — and then he doubles down and quickly finishes Frank off, making him come so suddenly it almost hurts. Frank is still taken with bliss when Hawkeye crawls up alongside him and kisses him with a sticky mouth.

“My turn, Frankie,” Hawkeye mumbles and he flips onto his back, pushes his pelvis forward to put himself on display. Frank has half a mind to make Hawkeye _wait_ because he rushed him through his, but his dick is really inviting and so Frank puts his mouth on it, tasting the wet leaking from the end. Hawkeye’s breathing goes uneven and he clutches at Frank’s shoulder and says something obscene that makes Frank’s insides feel hot and his own dick throb even though he’s spent. He licks Hawkeye’s length and bites his thigh and is rewarded with a desperate, “ahh!” from Hawkeye — then Frank swallows around him again, closes his eyes and rests his hand on Hawkeye’s stomach, feels when he goes tense followed by a warning before he comes.

He leaves Hawkeye lax while he goes to brush his teeth. He looks at himself in the mirror. There’s a kissed-bruise on his chest, gifted by Hawkeye last night. He smiles. He doesn’t recognize himself for a moment, and then he frowns.

When he returns to the bedroom, it’s dark. Hawkeye had turned off the lamp and bundled himself under the covers. Frank is unfamiliar with the layout of the room, but using the light from the hall, he finds his way to the dresser to get a pair underwear and a shirt, puts them on, and joins Hawkeye in bed.

It’s bigger than the bed in his apartment, as well as the ones they shared at the roadside hotels on their way to Maine, but Hawkeye still cozies up snug to him, his back to Frank’s front. Frank puts his arm around Hawkeye’s middle, rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Do you think your dad will stop by tonight?” Frank asks. He doesn’t want to be caught with Hawkeye in a compromising position, especially after he made a good first impression.

“He’ll knock if he does.” Hawkeye is tired, sounds half asleep already. “But I think he knew that we’d be busy tonight.”

“Don’t be foul.”

Hawkeye laughs, light. “Good night, Frank.”

“Good night, _Ben_.”

“Don’t you start.”

Hawkeye sleeps through the night, and Frank does too. He wakes up to a gentle sunlight and pleasant sounds — leaves rustling in the breeze, happy little birds, a wind chime.

A slumbering Hawkeye.

Hawkeye had turned over some time in the night, facing him. He looks content, and is currently drooling on his pillow. He’s been home one night and he’s already resting better.

Frank thinks — hopes this place will be healing for him, too.

Frank forces himself to leave Hawkeye’s side. He’s been longing to try out the big clawfoot tub since he saw it the day before. He runs a warm bath, adds some good-smelling soap he finds that makes more bubbles than he expects. He sinks into the water up to his chin, relaxes.

This still feels like madness. He made the decision to go with Hawkeye on instinct. He never does things on instinct. All he knows is that Hawkeye makes him feel a little bit crazy but he’d feel more crazy without him, so moving halfway across the country to the middle of nowhere seemed like a good idea. But he couldn’t say no when Hawkeye asked him to _come home_ with him. Hawkeye told him not to worry about anything, that he had a place they could live and he’d line up a job for him. Frank trusted him because he nothing to lose but him, and he’d lose him anyway if he didn’t go with him, so.

And because he needs Hawkeye, and he thinks, maybe, Hawkeye needs him too.

Nobody has ever needed him before.

Hawkeye is awake — Frank discovers that the wood floors of the old house don’t allow anyone to be sneaky. Hawkeye’s footfalls pass by the bathroom and then a couple minutes later there’s music softly playing. Billie Holiday, one of her more upbeat songs.

He’s in a good mood.

Frank finishes up, towels off, combs his hair. He changes into something casual (narrow-legged trousers and a polo, tucked in because he’s not a complete slob). He concludes that he looks like himself, but not too much like himself. A non-offensive amount.

“Hey.” Hawkeye doesn’t look up when Frank walks into the room. He’s drinking from a mug and sitting at the table with one leg folded in the chair, deeply engrossed in a newspaper. He gestures to the counter. “There’s coffee. No food, though. We can go over to my dad’s for that.”

Frank opens and closes cabinets until he finds mugs. He takes one that says _University of Chicago_ , pours himself coffee, adds sugar. Asks, “What would you do if there was nobody around to make sure you’re fed?”

“Beg for table scraps.” Hawkeye licks his fingertip, turns a page of the newspaper. “Oh, good. The market will be open this weekend. We should go.”

Frank sits at the table with him. “What are we going to do today?”

“Oh, I dunno, we should go back to bed and—”

_“Hawkeye.”_

Hawkeye looks at him over his glasses. “I thought I’d show you around.”

Frank thinks he’s already seen most of Crabapple Cove when they drove through town yesterday, but Hawkeye seems eager to share this with him, so he doesn’t say anything.

Hawkeye stretches, yawns. “I’ll go wash up.”

“And you should shave.” Frank pats Hawkeye’s jaw where he’s gotten quite scruffy — he hasn’t bothered to get rid of it since they left Indiana. It’s lazy grooming and unacceptable for his profession, but Frank admits that it looks good on him. And he doesn’t entirely hate how it leaves his inner thighs tender from beard burn.

“I was going for the rustic fisherman look,” Hawkeye says, and he pretends to toss his hair over his shoulder as he goes, prissy.

Oh, _him_.

Half the time Frank doesn’t know if he’s annoyed with Hawkeye, or maddeningly lovesick. It feels almost the same.

Frank reads the paper while Hawkeye gets ready. The _Crabapple Cove Courier_ has all the latest happenings in town. Such as: a bulletin that garden club is moved to Thursday evenings due to a conflict with knitting group, a reminder about the bake sale at the elementary school to raise money to send the fifth graders on a field trip, an advertisement for half-price fishing bait.

There are a few pages left when Hawkeye strolls in, looking less grungy and clean shaven. He stops Billie’s crooning — lifts the needle up, turns it off.

“Let’s go.” Hawkeye slips on his coat, tosses Frank his car keys and doesn’t wait for him. Frank has to hurry to catch up because Hawkeye is halfway to his dad’s house before Frank is out the door.

Daniel isn’t home. The house was unlocked — it’s _that_ kind of neighborhood, Frank realizes. Hawkeye mentions that his dad is probably seeing patients, having to work extra because of his slacker son. He grabs each of them a muffin from the kitchen and then shoos Frank outside again.

It’s a three minute drive into the main part of town. Frank parallel parks on the road where Hawkeye tells him to, and then follows his lead.

Everyone knows Frank is an outsider. He feels the pressure of their gaze, singling him out as a freak. Hawkeye is obviously adored by all — someone shouts across the street, “Hey, Doc!” and they can’t go ten steps without being stopped for polite smalltalk. They ask what he’s been up to, they’ve missed him, and who is _this_ —?

Frank meets Mark the florist, and Ann (and by how shifty Hawkeye acts around her, Frank knows that he’s slept with her at least once). There’s an old man outside the barber shop who Hawkeye has a long conversation with; Frank doesn’t remember his name but he works down at the docks and smells like fish. Then there’s a teenager who pesters them until Hawkeye asks, “shouldn’t you be in school?” The pastor’s wife. A young woman shamelessly flirts with Hawkeye (and Hawkeye admits he’s had a go or two with her). Ron, the sheriff, who Hawkeye innocently flirts with a bit.

It’s all very overwhelming for Frank. He didn’t grow up in a community like this — his neighborhood was too austere to be social, and he wasn’t invited to play with the local kids that often because they preferred his older brother to him. Really, the only person he could remember being genuinely kind to him was the old woman who lived across the street who’d occasionally babysit him. She’d tell him he was too skinny and let him eat all the sweets he wanted, and then send him him with more in his pockets.

By the afternoon, Frank thinks he’s met half the population of Crabapple Cove. Hawkeye introduces him as his _friend_ , each time. “My friend, we were stationed at the same hospital, he’s going to be staying with me for a while.”

“How long is _a while?_ ” Frank asks, when they’re out of earshot from others.

Hawkeye shrugs. “Until we can’t stand the sight of each other.”

“We don’t have to look at each other,” Frank says, returning the joke. At least, he hopes Hawkeye was kidding.

“True. I do like it when you’re behind me.”

“You can’t say something like that when we’re—”

“Relax. No one would suspect any hanky-panky between us. We’re just two guys, living together.”

He knows Hawkeye is right. It’s as though the idea of two men in a relationship is so unfathomable, no one sees it, even if it’s right in front of them. But what else could it mean when two confirmed bachelors live together? Frank thought his mom might figure it out when he told her he was moving with Hawkeye, but she did not.

(And for some reason, he was not as relieved as he thought he’d be.)

Hawkeye shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, says more seriously, “You can stay as long as you’d like,” and then adds, “If you like it here.”

He’s being vulnerable. Sharing something that is meaningful to him. He’s been doing that more since he told Frank about what happened to him during his last months in Korea. It’s always a pleasant surprise when it happens. But Frank wished it didn’t feel like Hawkeye was surrendering a part of himself to meet closer together.

“Anywhere is fine with me,” Frank says. He does not finish it with, _as long as you’ll have me._ That would be too much for Hawkeye. He’d get evasive and call Frank _clingy_ and then they’d argue, and so forth, until they’d have a rough shag and then never talk about why they were fighting in the first place.

They stop by the drugstore to pick up some things Daniel needs for the clinic. It has the usual things a drugstore carries but also items that are specific to the town, like fishing rods and freshly baked cookies. But the strangest thing is how gorgeous the pharmacist is.

Frank has never seen a woman pharmacist. He knows they exist, in theory, but nevertheless. She’s too pretty to be stuck behind a counter and wearing a frumpy white coat. Hawkeye knows this too, he’s flirting with her, making her laugh. Disgusting. He’s thinking about if it’s worth it to boldly make a claim on Hawkeye when he realizes they’re talking about him.

“This one with the vacant expression is Frank,” Hawkeye says. “He’s going to be staying at my place.”

“I’m a doctor, too,” Frank blurts out.

“Oh.” She looks from him to Hawkeye and back again. “Good for you.”

She thinks he’s strange. Dumb. He knows when people don’t like him. And then Hawkeye will be mad because now he’s associated himself with somebody _dumb_.

“Anyway,” Hawkeye says, takes the bag. “Thanks again.”

“Any time.”

Frank walks ahead of him, slams the car door shut. Hawkeye gets in a few moments later, looks over at him, heaves a heavy sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Frank hears how high-pitched his voice is. He chews on his finger. He won’t say anything. Hawkeye doesn’t like it when he’s whiny.

“Frank.”

Frank turns to look at him.

“Is she one of your conquests, too?”

“Sheila?” Hawkeye sighs, rubs his forehead. “She’s married, Frank. Her husband works with her. They’re both pharmacists. They own the store.”

“I see, because she’s married you won’t put the moves on her, but that doesn’t stop you from being a floozy.”

“Not if it gets me discounts.”

Frank scoffs. “You should see how the women look at you. Have you been with every single woman in town between the ages of twenty and fifty?”

“Wow, Frank, that’s a spicy accusation.”

“Well, _have_ you?”

Hawkeye smiles. “The ones I haven’t been with isn’t for lack of trying. Some are immune to my allure.”

“It’s astonishing they’re able to resist all you have to offer,” Frank says. “Late drunken nights...crazy eyes...no strings or fidelity...”

“Exactly my point. I’m a _catch_.”

Frank narrows his eyes at Hawkeye. “You know, it’s interesting how you don’t have many second dates with women. Perhaps it’s because they didn’t have a good time.”

“You assume they are the ones who turned _me_ down?”

“Yes,” Frank says, dryly. “I’ve seen you turned down a hundred times. You would try to cozy up with the nurses, but they knew your wiles, that you were only good for momentary distraction.”

“Excuse you, I’ve had plenty of repeats. For starters, Mar—”

“Do not bring her into this.”

Hawkeye has that devious smile, where his eyes go squinty and he shows too many of his teeth.

“If I’m such a bad companion,” says Hawkeye, “then why did you keep coming back to me?”

It was a mystery to Frank as well. It had a lot to do with how Hawkeye would shamelessly touch his dick, and something less coherent, _pretty boy good mouth nice kisser._

“Have you been with other men?” Frank asks, deflecting. “Here, I mean. In town.”

“When I was younger,” Hawkeye says, and his voice is a little sad. “But uh. I think I’m the only guy in town like that. Well, there is one other.”

“Who?” Who else in this podunk town does he have to fend off—?

Hawkeye rolls his eyes, punches Frank’s arm. “ _You_ , dumbass.”

“Oh.” Frank sits up from a slouch, squares his shoulders back. “In that case...”

“There’s a man over in Newcastle, though—”

“Oh, _you_.”

Frank has the idea to prepare a dinner for Daniel, so they go to the local grocery store. There’s an extensive area for seafood and Hawkeye cons himself into a sample of steamed lobster from the guy at the counter. He offers Frank some and it is one of the best things he’s ever tasted.

He gets the items needed, and Hawkeye adds a bunch of things to the cart they don’t need. Frank doesn’t say anything because Hawkeye is in a good mood and he doesn’t want to spoil it. And besides, Frank also has a guilty pleasure for chocolate chip cookies and he will make Hawkeye as many as he wants. Frank has learned to appreciate these small moments — moments where they’re _okay_ and openly like each other outside of when they’re having sex — because they dissipate so quickly.

And this one vanishes as well. Hawkeye is helping him pick out apples and a shrill voice calls out, “Hawkeye _Pierce?”_

Hawkeye mutters, “damn it,” under his breath but then he turns around with a wide, fake smile, says, “Hey, Janice.”

The woman grabs Hawkeye and pulls him into a tight hug. His arms are pinned to his side. He meets Frank’s gaze and rolls his eyes.

And then Frank finds out that she’s Janice née Perkins — she always sat next to Hawkeye in school. Without being told, Frank knows that she was probably class president and a cheerleader.

“How _are_ you?” she asks, emphasized in a patronizing way that implies she already knows the answer. “You were gone for quite a while. I was starting to worry about you.”

“Ha ha...” Hawkeye is boiling mad. Frank knows because he used to have the same expression for him all the time, like _you’re so stupid you don’t know how stupid you ar_ e _you worthless piece of shit._

Frank doesn’t pay much attention to the rest of the conversation because he’s watching how Hawkeye reacts. She says something about her kids and Hawkeye flinches ever so slightly that you’d never see if you weren’t looking for it, and Hawkeye feigns interest when she talks about her hay-fever, and his eyes glaze over when she says _why haven’t you settled down, you were always such a good boy in school—?_

“Good boy?” Frank says when she leaves them (finally). “She doesn’t know you at all.”

“Yeah.” Hawkeye runs a hand through his hair, squeezes the back of his neck. He has that frantic look about him, like he’s in a cage but he locked himself in from the inside.

Frank touches his arm. “Hawkeye?”

“I’m fine.” He forces a smile that almost makes it to his eyes. “What else besides the apples?”

“Everyone knows.”

“Hmm?” Frank glances over at Hawkeye — he’s slumped in the passenger seat, looking out the window. He had fallen into one of those pensive lapses of silence after speaking with his old classmate.

“Everyone knows I came back _wrong_.”

It’s Hawkeye’s sorrow, but why does it feel like Frank has been punched in the chest?

“They don’t know I’ve been in an asylum — twice,” Hawkeye says. “But they know that I’m, uh, damaged goods.”

They’re already at the Pierce residence. The ride from the store to the house is too short of a distance to have a decent conversation. Frank turns off the ignition.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” he says.

“I don’t care what you think,” Hawkeye replies and Frank might flinch because _ouch_ , but then Hawkeye shakes his head and revises. “I meant I _know_ what you think, that doesn’t matter. It’s everyone else who’s the problem. They feel sorry for me and I hate that, because then I’m forced to remember that I’m not alright. I came back here because I wanted to feel normal, but I can’t. I will never feel like that because I _am_ different.”

Frank won’t disagree, because Hawkeye is right — he isn’t the same as he was. But what Hawkeye doesn’t understand is that it doesn’t make him wrong, or bad, or anything else terrible. What happened to him is bad, is all.

“They don’t mean you harm. They care for you,” Frank says. It was obvious with everyone they met in town today. But everyone likes Hawkeye. It’s difficult to dislike him. Frank had liked him, even when he didn’t.

Hawkeye puts his face in his hands, hiding away. He takes a deep breath.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t need to do anything.” Frank takes Hawkeye’s hands, pulls them away, holds them in his own. “You’re doing the best you can.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Hawkeye says and Frank doesn’t know how to argue him out of believing that so he kisses him. He’s been wanting to all day, out of jealousy and just pure desire. Hawkeye lets out a fractured noise, puts his hand to Frank’s chest and Frank thinks he must feel how his heart flutters wildly.

They spend the remainder of the afternoon over at Daniel’s place. Daniel is still at the office, tending to the health of the residents of Crabapple Cove. Hawkeye helps Frank with the cooking, which is him doing one task but then stopping because it’s _boring_. He’s more interested in drinking the wine to be used as an ingredient for the meal and talking Frank’s ear off.

Daniel comes home at half past four and the first thing he does is give Hawkeye a big hug and asks if he’s doing okay. It could be that he’s overly concerned about Hawkeye’s mental state, but it’s more likely it’s how the Pierces always interact. It embarrasses Frank for some reason.

“I suppose I’m in for a treat,” Daniel says. “Hawkeye told me you’re a great cook.”

“He has?” Compliments from Hawkeye are few and far between and he likes to confirm every occurrence.

Hawkeye shrugs. “I might have mentioned it.”

“A few times.”

Hawkeye grumbles something, drinks the rest of the wine in his glass.

“Well,” Daniel says, “I’ll leave you boys to it,” and he lays a hand on Frank’s shoulder. It’s nothing, but it startles Frank so badly that he clatters the spoon against the pan and he scrunches his shoulders up towards his ears and his breath catches in his throat—

—and then the touch is gone, removed.

Frank wants to tell Daniel he misunderstood. He doesn’t mind it, he’s just not used to being touched because he didn’t come from an affectionate family. Or marriage, for that matter. There’s the touch of a lover, but that’s different, a different connotation when you’re sleeping with them.

To him, affection is transactional — he has to give something to get what he wants. Give his mom a hug and she’d pay attention to him. Earn good grades and his dad would give him a pat on the back. Buy a woman dinner and she’ll put out. Even his dear, loving Margaret — she wanted marriage and when he couldn’t (wouldn’t) give that to her, she had no reason to love him anymore.

But Hawkeye’s affection is genuine. He’s too selfish to bother being kind — he doesn’t do it for Frank’s sake. Hawkeye is still an ass to him at times but it doesn’t have the same bite. Frank knows Hawkeye, that he craves affection as much as he does. It comes natural to him. The purity of his intent is unnerving and yet gratifying. Hawkeye doesn’t expect anything, doesn’t try to manipulate him using compassion as a reward. Maybe that’s why Frank feels so comfortable with him.

It almost feels normal. Like when Hawkeye’s fingers brush against his arm as he sneaks around him to try and stick his finger in the mashed potatoes.

Frank smacks his backside with the spoon he’s holding.

Hawkeye gasps, puts his hand to himself. “Frank!”

“Don’t do that, you...”

His thoughts are cut off with a squeak because in the doorway is Daniel Pierce — how long has he been standing there? Did he see his flirty indiscretion with Hawkeye? No, Daniel couldn’t have, because he wouldn’t be looking at them so casually if he had. Or maybe he did see, and he thinks nothing of it and that they’re just friendly friends, or—

“Do you need any help?” asks Daniel.

“We’ve got it, thank you.” Frank mostly makes an excuse so Daniel will leave the room, because he can’t look in Hawkeye’s direction without blushing.

Daniel has only good things to say about the meal; he uses words like _wonderful_ and _fantastic_. Frank is elated because it had been his intention to impress. Frank is trying very hard to make Daniel like him. He made one of his best dishes, _coq au vin_ , which sounds fancy but really is just baked chicken and veggies in wine. Not a lot of faff but delicious and wholesome.

Frank thanks him, because once Hawkeye told him he needs to accept compliments without negating them.

“And wait until you’ve tried his pie,” Hawkeye says, and it wouldn’t sound half as dirty if he didn’t have his hand on Frank’s knee under the table. Frank shoves it away. Hawkeye grins.

“I do have you to thank for making sure he doesn’t starve,” Daniel says. “Although, you really have spoiled my boy.”

“He’s easy to spoil,” Frank replies, and he’s talking too much again, but then he’s not talking at all and that’s awkward too, oh _god—_

“Hawkeye told me you’re divorced,” Daniel says, his attempt to keep conversation going from the dead silence Frank left. “I don’t understand why someone would let you go.”

Frank can’t tell if he’s joking. It feels like a joke.

“There were a lot of reasons.” Frank’s voice wavers, nervous. “It didn’t work out.”

“Your ex-wife is a shrew.” Hawkeye talks with his mouth full. “And that’s me being polite.”

“ _Benjamin_.”

“It’s true, dad. She—”

Daniel holds up his hand, silencing Hawkeye. Apparently it’s a power only his father has.

He changes the subject.

“Why did you become a doctor?” he asks. “Is your dad one?”

“My father is dead,” Frank says, and if the tone at the table wasn’t awkward already, it is now — Hawkeye drinks and Daniel looks like he’s about to apologize, so Frank follows it up with, “Um, no. My father was a mechanic.”

He smelled like motor oil and his hands were rough and he thought people were as modifiable as an engine.

Daniel nods — it’s different for his family, where there’s been three generations of surgeons.

“Did you always want to be a doctor?”

Frank shrugs. “My older brother was studying to be a lawyer, so medicine was my other choice.” He didn’t go into law, because he didn’t want his career to be compared to Rob’s, like everything else in his life. And besides, a surgeon was more prestigious and lucrative. Nevertheless, Rob was still the one his parents bragged about most. No matter what Frank did, he was always second best.

“Now he’s a corporate lawyer in Washington D.C.,” Frank says. “He works with the federal trade commission.”

“I didn’t know that,” Hawkeye says, and there’s a touch of interest in his voice. But how would he know about the insignificant aspects of his life? He never asks.

After dinner and after dessert (apple pie, which both Pierces have two slices each), Frank offers to clean up but Daniel won’t let him.

“You’ve done enough,” he says. “Relax a while.”

And then he recruits Hawkeye’s help instead.

Frank hears their murmured conversation from the other room. They’re talking low so they must be talking about him. He can’t prove it but he _knows_.

He distracts himself.

In the living room, there are several photos, most of them of Hawkeye. There’s one where he’s a teenager, bundled up in winter clothing and playing in the snow. Another with him and his dad at what looks like his graduation from medical school. One where Hawkeye can’t be any older than nine, and he’s smiling at the camera, showing off missing teeth. A copy of the same picture that Hawkeye has over at his place, where all four Pierces are alive and happy.

The most recent photo is Hawkeye dressed in his Class As and glaring at the camera; it must be from before he shipped off, before his life was ruined. He looks terrified and furious. He was so very young, a boy.

“He refused to smile that day.”

Frank didn’t realize Daniel was there. He had been too engrossed with Hawkeye to notice.

“This is one of my favorites,” Daniel says, pointing to a different picture. One where Hawkeye is happy. In it, he is maybe in his early twenties — his hair jet black with no whisper yet of gray and his features a bit softer — standing in the middle of a stage, wearing a cape.

“He was Hamlet,” Daniel explains. “He did the local play every summer when he was home from college.”

“I did some acting in high school.” Frank loved it — the thrill of being someone else for a while, and when someone laughed it wasn’t at _you_ it was at your character — but then his parents told him he wasn’t any good and that he wasn’t handsome enough for it, and then theatre wasn’t fun anymore.

“Your best role was probably Oedipus,” Hawkeye says, coming up between them. “You had personal experience to draw from.”

“That’s—” Frank sputters, looks between Daniel and Hawkeye. “You’re—”

“I’m joking, Frankie.” Hawkeye winks at him. “I’m sure you were a star.”

And Frank knows his parents were wrong about his acting abilities because he has to pretend he isn’t infatuated with Hawkeye, every day, every moment.

They walk back to their house long after it’s dark, and as soon as they’re inside Hawkeye kisses him in the doorway. He’s not wasting any time — he drags Frank to their ( _their!_ ) bedroom and Frank puts his hands on him like he’s wanted to do all night and—

“I’m not going to fuck anyone else.”

Frank looks to his side at Hawkeye; he’s lying on his back, his eyes closed, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He’s not sober, but he’s not really drunk either.

“What?”

“You heard me,” says Hawkeye. “I know you were jealous today when I was talking with all those people I’ve been with. But they were just flings. Nothing serious.”

Frank doesn’t miss the implication that _they_ are serious.

“I haven’t been with anyone else since we’ve been together again,” Hawkeye says, and there’s an unasked question in there.

Frank has never been the most faithful partner. He was a serial cheater when married, and when he was with Margaret he was seeing Hawkeye on the side. But since Hawkeye showed up at his doorstep, he hasn’t wanted for anyone else — or even _thought_ of it.

“I’m not going to either,” Frank says. “Only you.”

“Good.” Hawkeye yawns, puts his face against Frank’s shoulder. “What more could you want, anyway?”

Nothing. Except more of him.


	2. Dr. Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye and Frank are colleagues again.

Hawkeye sleeps fine the first two nights but on the third the nightmares return. He’s restless, waking Frank up with his tossing and turning and pained mutterings. Frank tries to soothe him, puts his arm around him and holds him tight — that works, sometimes — but Hawkeye still wakes up with shuddering gasps and broken sobs every couple of hours.

It’s sometime before dawn when Frank realizes neither are going back to sleep.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Frank asks. He talks low, gentle.

“Nothing.” Hawkeye is staring at the ceiling. He’s exhausted. He kicked the blanket off of him sometime during the night. He’s sweaty, his shirt damp at his chest and under his arms.

“Please?” Frank asks. “I’ll make anything you want.”

Hawkeye is silent for a few seconds and then says, “Pancakes. Do we have more of that blueberry syrup?”

It’s the same thing he had yesterday for lunch.

“You got it.” Frank brushes his hair back — it’s too long again, and needs trim — and kisses his temple. Hawkeye grumbles but doesn’t reject it, so. There’s that.

Frank leaves Hawkeye to lie in bed as he makes breakfast, although Hawkeye comes out a few minutes after, wearing a fluffy robe and slippers. He doesn’t like to be alone after a bad night. He wordlessly sits at the table, watching. Frank feels Hawkeye’s gaze heavy on him. He flips a pancake with some flair. Hawkeye applauds. It’s sarcastic, but it feels good all the same.

“Here.” Frank pushes coffee towards him. He tries to do that before Hawkeye gets to the liquor first.

Hawkeye mumbles a _thanks_ and slumps in his chair. Frank watches as he brings the mug up to his mouth, first taking a hesitant sniff. He takes a sip. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes. He blinks and drinks again.

Frank knows better than to ask, _are you alright?_ He doesn’t say anything. He lets Hawkeye be quiet.

Hawkeye stares at his plate that Frank puts in front of him. He looks a bit ill. Frank doesn’t force him. He eats his own portion, makes light chit-chat. Hawkeye scowls at his plate some more. He stomach growls. He sighs, drowns his pancakes with blueberry syrup, and digs in.

Daniel comes by later in the morning to remind them that today is their last day to enjoy their carefree, unemployed lifestyle.

Hawkeye looks sick all over again, and really, Frank isn’t that thrilled either. He knows it has to happen. Daniel needs the help, especially when there are surgeries booked. It’ll be good to return to normalcy (or so Hawkeye said Sidney Freedman said), but Frank is terrified. If he messes up, it’ll make Hawkeye and Daniel look bad and they’re trusting him and—

Frank wants to crawl back in bed and hide from the world but Hawkeye won’t let him. If he must suffer life, he shall too.

Hawkeye wears one of his many Hawaiian shirts: navy, with pink hibiscus flowers all over. It’s loud and Hawkeye himself has too much energy for someone who hardly slept. Hawkeye drives them into town in Daniel’s Chevy pick-up truck. He changes the gears too soon, making Frank keep lurching forward in his seat. He thinks Hawkeye does it on purpose.

First, they go by the drugstore. Hawkeye helps Frank pick out postcards to send to his daughters. He gets one for each, because he wants them to know he’s thinking of them, specifically. He writes messages to them at the counter, ending in: _Love, Dad._ Then he addresses them to his old address in Fort Wayne, and puts them in the pile to be mailed out.

Hawkeye buys his own necessities, which Frank horrifyingly realizes are a couple boxes of condoms. Frank pretends he does not see, even though Hawkeye sets them on the counter with no reservations at all.

The pharmacist — who must be the husband counterpart to the woman pharmacist Frank met the other day — tuts at Hawkeye.

“Have some fun planned?” he asks.

“I like to be prepared,” replies Hawkeye.

Frank looks out the window.

The next task Hawkeye has planned is to get Frank some proper Mainer clothing. Flannels and hiking boots, because Hawkeye says, _you’ll need them, trust me._ The shirts aren’t really his style, but they are comfortable and Hawkeye is buying, so he doesn’t fuss.

Then Hawkeye stops at a corner store. Frank stays in the truck and Hawkeye comes out a few minutes later with a paper bag that is distinctly bottle shaped. He puts it in the seat between them.

“You could’ve asked if I wanted something,” Frank says, but then Hawkeye wordlessly hands him a chocolate bar.

So, he did have the presence of mind to think of him on his booze run. Frank thanks him, opens it and eats it as Hawkeye drives. He’s always had a predilection for chocolate. A weakness. As a kid, he’d beg for it at the store when his mom took him shopping; most times she would spoil him, but he’d have to eat it in the car so his father wouldn’t find out.

Hawkeye doesn’t tell him where they’re going. He drives out of town, on a road lined densely with trees. Hawkeye rolls down his window. He air smells salty.

And then the trees clear and Frank sees it: water. He looks at it in awe as Hawkeye gets the paper bag, reaches behind the seat and grabs two towels that had been in there, then hops out of the truck.

Frank follows past the tree line and his steps shift under him. He looks down. Sand.

“I’ve never been to the beach before.”

Hawkeye looks up from where he’s laying the towels out on the sand. “This isn’t a beach, Frank. It’s just the cove.”

“Oh.”

Frank supposes that’s true. The land curves in a half circle, with a small outlet that leads to the sea. There’s a bit of sandy shore and a lot of jagged, dark rocks. To his right is a dock with several boats and business he’s been to the last few days. There are a few people on the dock, but they are too far away to be a bother. They are alone.

Hawkeye takes off his shoes and socks, strips off his shirt, sits on a towel. Pats the spot next to him. “Join me, Frankie.”

Frank does. He isn’t going to take off his shirt, but he goes barefoot as well. Hawkeye dressed better for this — he wore shorts — but it’s not too bad. It’s sunny but the breeze is cool and the trees provide a nice shade.

Hawkeye turns to look at him. “You really haven’t been to a beach? Ever?”

“I went to Lake Michigan a few times as a kid, but it wasn’t like this.” It was busy and grungy and too loud. The most memorable thing about it was when he spent a long afternoon searching for the perfect rocks and stacking them to make towers, which Rob then knocked over.

“One day we’ll go to the beach,” Hawkeye says. “See the Atlantic. You look out at the horizon and it goes on forever.”

He’s planning for the future. Frank wonders if Hawkeye is aware he’s doing that.

Wine was the drink of choice hidden in the bag. Something to get Hawkeye a nice, slow inebriated. He opens the bottle and drinks directly from it. He offers it to Frank who declines. It’s not even noon. Hawkeye shrugs, says, “More for me,” and then drinks deeply from it again. His lips are stained red.

He sets the bottle in the sand, lies on his back, stretches his arms above his head, closes his eyes. He’s reminiscent of a lizard sunning itself.

“What are we going to do?” Frank asks.

Hawkeye peeks one eye open at him. “Do you have something in mind? We could break out those condoms.”

“Not _outside.”_

“We have before,” Hawkeye says, trailing his hand up Frank’s thigh. “Remember when we drove out past the ammo dump...had a little afternoon delight...”

Frank remembers very well. They parked next to a bombed out building and they had sex in the jeep. It had just rained so the air was heavy but it smelled good, and Hawkeye’s dog tags jingled as he rode him—

“That was different,” Frank says. They had to steal moments to be alone, then. They were insane. They could have been killed. Or worse — caught, and then killed.

“Right.” Hawkeye gives him the slightest grin and pats his leg. “Will you relax with me, at least?”

Frank would like nothing more, so he lies down next to him. Satisfied with himself, Hawkeye closes his eyes again. Wine makes him sleepy so he dozes off in no time. He’s slightly snoring. It might be weird but Frank likes seeing Hawkeye sleep, where he doesn’t have his guard up and it’s just him. Hawkeye.

Like this, Frank almost sees _Benjamin_.

Frank looks around to make sure they are alone, then kisses Hawkeye softly on the forehead. Leaves him to rest.

He rolls his pants up under his knees. Steps into the water. It’s cooler than he thought it would be, for summer. The water settles around his ankles. There’s no tide to speak of but it feels like he could be taken away, washed out to sea. He digs his toes into the wet sand, grounding himself, like an anchor.

He looks over his shoulder. Hawkeye is still there, laid out on the sand.

Frank picks up one of the smaller pebbles at his feet. He runs his thumb over the smooth surface, then tosses it out to the water. It sinks immediately. He picks up another, a bigger one that’s light tan, tries skipping that one — but it splashes, sinks.

He isn’t sure how much time passes. He uses all the good rocks near him and has to look for better ones. When he manages to get one skip before it goes under water, it’s the most successful he’s felt in quite a while. He’s determined, keeps trying, again and again—

—and then, _skip skip skip_ , glides across the water.

Frank lets out a gleeful giggle. That wasn’t so hard. He arcs his arm back to toss another—

“Nice job.”

Frank spins around. Hawkeye is awake, sitting up. How long has he been watching?

Hawkeye holds out his hand. An invitation. Frank goes to him, and he should know better but he takes his hand, anyway — and he’s pulled down along beside Hawkeye, crashing into the sand.

Frank drives them back because Hawkeye drank most of the wine, even though Hawkeye insists he’s fine, and while that may be true, Frank doesn’t want to risk him running into a tree.

They get a pizza from what Hawkeye calls the best place in town, which happens to be the _only_ pizza place in town. Hawkeye is picky about toppings but they compromise.

When home, they shower because sand found itself everywhere after they tumbled in it. Hawkeye suggests they shower together with a devious waggle of his brows but they don’t have time for that nonsense.

Hawkeye convinces them to eat on the sofa so they can watch television ( _The Lone Ranger_ , a favorite of Frank’s). Frank always ate at the table before Hawkeye ( _pre-Hawkeye_ , like it’s a set distinction in time). Hawkeye devours his pizza, having two slices before Frank has finished his first. He’s casually drinking beer, not getting too drunk (for him), but enough to put him in a good mood. He picks the peppers off his pizza and gives them to Frank, first dropping them on his plate but then offers Frank to eat it from his hand, and Frank is feeling silly enough that he does. When done, Hawkeye leans against Frank and Frank puts his arm behind him so they can settle together more comfortably. It’s alarming how natural it feels.

Frank makes them turn in early. They’ve had a long day and Hawkeye isn’t used to being productive so he will need the rest for tomorrow, but it’s mostly because they want a _go_ with each other. Hawkeye lies on his back and Frank crawls on top of him, straddling his hips. Hawkeye pushes forward, makes his hardness rub against Frank’s. He’s asking to be taken, even though Frank doesn’t require convincing. He kisses Hawkeye without restraint, small delicious kisses that get heavier, needy. Hawkeye moves and Frank thinks it’s so they can rut on each other better, but Hawkeye’s hand slips down and...oh.

Hawkeye licks into Frank’s mouth, gasping as he pleasures himself on his fingers. Frank pulls back enough to look at him — his eyes are closed and has a nice flush across his cheeks and he’s smiling, ever so slightly. The picture of bliss.

When Hawkeye is ready, he grabs Frank and places him _there_ , rubs against him. “Wait, hold on,” Frank says, and he spreads more lube on Hawkeye and then on himself, then presses against Hawkeye, pushes until he’s fully inside him. Hawkeye’s breath hitches and his hands scramble at Frank’s sides, says nonsense like, “ _ooh”_ and “ _right there.”_ Frank gives Hawkeye’s dick a tug and Hawkeye lets out a moan that sounds both sweet and filthy at the same time.

Frank puts his face against Hawkeye’s chest, inhales. Hawkeye smells good. Feels good. His strong surgeon’s hands pressing bruises into his skin. His long legs resting against his hips. His exquisite exposed neck that invites him to kiss it. The way he’s mumbling, _Frank_ , whispered, like a secret.

After, Hawkeye is affectionate, so he’s not sober yet. He wraps his arm around Frank’s middle and snuggles up close to him. Leaves a sloppy kiss on the back of his neck. It makes Frank’s heart leap in his chest in way sex doesn’t.

“G’night, Frankie.”

“Goodnight,” Frank says, but Hawkeye is already snoring in his ear.

Frank rises early because he’s too nervous. It’s the same sick to his stomach feeling he’d get on the first day of school. He’d worry _what if I don’t know where my classroom is_ and _what if I say the wrong answer_ and _what if nobody likes me?_ His mother would tell him he was being ridiculous and, _of course it won’t go well with a negative attitude like that!_ as though he could will confidence into existence.

He looks to his side. Hawkeye is lying sprawled out on his stomach, snoozing away.

Frank knows that Hawkeye is anxious, too. Although he’d never say as much.

At least they’re together.

“Hawkeye.” Frank leans in closer, talks into his ear. “Hawk, wake up.”

Hawkeye grumbles, pulls the blanket over his head. “Five more minutes.”

“Alright.” They can spare it. Frank pats Hawkeye’s rear and goes to tidy up; showers, combs his hair, does a nice close shave. When he returns to the bedroom, Hawkeye is still sleeping. Frank grabs the end of the blanket and yanks it off him.

Hawkeye sits bolt upright. “Don’t rush me.”

“We’re going to be late.”

Hawkeye yawns, waves his hand dismissively. “It’s not like my dad will fire me. You, however…”

Frank puts his hands on his hips. “ _Go.”_

Hawkeye sticks out his tongue but he does as Frank tells him. Frank is still shocked when that happens.

However, Hawkeye doesn’t take long to ready himself. He strolls into the kitchen, wearing a plaid shirt and slacks that are too big for him.

“You’re wearing that?” Frank asks. He looks more like he’s going for a picnic rather than doctoring.

“You’re wearing _that?”_ Hawkeye says, pitching his voice higher, mimicking Frank. He leans against the counter and drinks coffee (that Frank had already prepared for him), gives Frank a once over. “You look like a dork.”

Frank figured Hawkeye would make fun of him. So what if he wants to make a good impression? Sweater vests are neat.

He shoves a paper sack into Hawkeye’s hand. “There. Your lunch,” he says, and Hawkeye wrinkles his nose and glares at the bag like it’s garbage, so he adds, “It’s just a turkey sandwich. Don’t get particular about it.”

Hawkeye mumbles something that is not _thank you_. Frank says, “You’re welcome,” anyway.

Daniel had put a sign on the door of the Crabapple Cove Medical Clinic—

_Welcome back, Dr. Pierce! And welcome to Dr. Burns!_

—and it makes Frank feel a feeling he doesn’t know the name for.

Hawkeye is clearly unhappy. He sighs, pushes open the door. Frank follows with his head bowed.

It’s a small, but cozy lobby, decorated in netural tones and pictures of lighthouses. Lining the wall are chairs that have seen better days. In the corner, there are toys to entertain kids.

It’s much different than anywhere he’s worked.

“Good morning!”

Daniel is sitting at the front desk, looking over a chart. Frank is about to say something but Hawkeye speaks first.

“You didn’t have to make a _fuss_.” He goes around the desk, sits on it as he talks to his dad. “It’s just me.”

Frank trips on the rug as he tries to edge into the room.

Hawkeye nods in his direction. “And him.”

Frank almost says something rude in reply, but remembers Daniel is there, so instead he bites his tongue and pretends to examine the picture on the wall.

“Everyone missed you,” Daniel says. “They’re happy you’re back.”

“I don’t care,” Hawkeye says, razor sharp. And that’s just like Hawkeye. How _awful_ it is to be liked, but there’s more to that bitterness there — he’s hurt.

His father picks up on it, too.

Daniel lowers his voice, so low that Frank has to strain to hear him. “Are you sure you’re ready? There’s no shame if you’re not.”

“I’m _fine_.” He’s still miserable, but angry now too, and Daniel sighs and—

—and then Hawkeye grabs Frank’s arm.

“Let me show you the rest of the place,” Hawkeye says. As Frank is dragged away, he exchanges a grim smile with Daniel.

Hawkeye shows him both exam rooms, the room where they do in office surgeries and births, the supply closet, the office, and that’s it.

“We’ll have to share a desk,” Hawkeye says. There are two — a larger one that is centered in the room with the nameplate _Dr. Daniel Pierce,_ and another smaller desk in the corner that, based on the clutter, is clearly Hawkeye’s.

Frank runs his finger on the surface. It’s dusty. There’s a white coat draped over the back of the chair. Hawkeye puts it on.

“How do I look?”

“Handsome,” Frank says and Hawkeye laughs. He must think Frank is joking, but he isn’t. Hawkeye is very handsome. Especially his smile…

But Hawkeye’s joy is brief, quickly fading to that stricken panic where it looks like he’s wading through rising water.

“Everything will be okay.” Frank puts his hand on Hawkeye’s arm. Hawkeye flinches, but he doesn’t shove Frank away. There’s an insult on the tip of Hawkeye’s tongue — Frank feels it — but instead the worry wins and he asks—

“And what if it’s not?”

“It will be,” Frank says.

And if not, it will be good enough.

There is one nurse at the clinic: Edith, who’s worked there for decades, since Hawkeye was a young teenager. She’s very no-nonsense, which she’d have to be work with the Pierces. Frank appreciates her, but she also intimidates him a bit. It feels as though she’s sizing him up. He supposes a lot of people wonder why he would be allowed to join a _family_ practice.

Frank reviews the files for his scheduled appointments of the day. There are only three. There could be walk ins, but it should be a slow day overall. _An average day,_ Daniel had said. Between the three of them, it’s very manageable — Daniel had ran it on his own for years, between Hawkeye being in Korea and then being too _unwell._

It’s been a while since Frank did general practice. He worked at the hospital in Indianapolis, and before that was the MASH, and before that he had his practice where he did several operations a week. He never liked operating much, anyway, so this arrangement works out for all of them...

“You’ll never have to operate if you don’t want to. Me or my dad will handle those,” Hawkeye told him, one night on their way to Maine, “as long as you’re the pediatrician. I _can’t_... Frank, please—”

And so, that is why Frank is struggling to look in a four-year-old’s ear.

Kids are terrible patients. They’re very dramatic, acting like getting a check-up is a personal offense, and they’re unhelpful, unable explain what’s wrong with them other than _it hurts_. He’s never really understood kids. His childhood wasn’t normal, so he doesn’t know how to interact with them, or how to comfort them. He was told to _toughen up_ every time he cried, and he got yelled at every time he was sick…

…but he doesn’t break into a nervous sweat at the thought of having to treat a child, and he doesn’t have nightmares about babies dying. So. He can do this, for Hawkeye.

Even though this is almost as difficult as an arterial transplant.

But he gets through it, and afterward he gives the kid a lollipop (which he had to use as bribery) and a prescription for medicine for an ear infection.

Frank tosses the file on the stack to be sorted later. Hawkeye is at the desk scribbling notes. He looks up at Frank, leans back in the chair.

“So,” Hawkeye says, “you made it through your first patient.”

Frank’s ears feel warm. “If you thought I was so incompetent, you shouldn’t have asked me—”

“I was being kind, Frank.”

“Oh.” Frank clears his throat. “Well, it didn’t seem like it.”

Hawkeye shrugs and goes back to writing.

Frank still doubts why Hawkeye wants him here. He’s never had a complimentary thing to say about his skills as a doctor, so this doesn’t make sense. As much as Frank wants to believe it’s for good intentions, he can’t entirely trust Hawkeye. _Nothing_ about their relationship makes sense, but Hawkeye asking Frank to work with him is stranger than anything they do together in the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has left nice comments ahhh! hope you all continue to enjoy
> 
> and double thank you to nomi who looked this over and also talking over all the ideas!

**Author's Note:**

> biggest thanks to bluecarrot, who listens to my ramblings and also tells me things about cooking because i know zero percent about cooking, and to captainafab who looked this over and is all around great hawnk pal


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